Some Witches & Wizards Deserve Romance Too
by You're Lame
Summary: Pavarti put on the same jeans that her roommate, Hermione, minorly despises. Bedazzled and 2003. Pav couldn't be more proud, and couldn't be more obnoxious about it. Romance? Maybe! Pavarti would like to know. But her comrade in mysticism, Lavender J. Brown couldn't be more infatuated with them. So Pav doesn't really get whether or not Lav is hanging with her for her jeans, or her
1. I Love Drummer Girls

It is for certain that the dwarfed girl figdted with her banjo solely on Wednesday afternoons, and generally to the surprisingly light-hearted tune of Top 40 radio. Haggered, poetic, and purely revolting. The exact right kind of pretentious smoky air to quench the young adult yearning that had been infesting the Sixth-Years, as of late. Just by glancing at the lady's vast layer of flannels, one could easily discern that she, for sure, and without a doubt, listened to Elliott Smith.

"Isn't it simply romantic, Lavender? Like, _come on_ , dude. You gotta see my narrative, here."

"I hate it."

"Wait! You're right! Of course you are, you always are."

"Obviously, uggo."

"Kinda jealous about that, not gonna lie. But! Anyways, it's purely simple, you know? Why be lame and awful and just _stand_ and _chat_ about this chick? We gotta be straightforward about our interest. I'll just walk up to her!"

"Fine. So while you go play manic pixie, or whatever, I'm gonna go away. Literally, anywhere else."

"But where, Lav? Remember our contract? Your red-headed warrior can only go so many places. "

"That's why I make him where my perfume."

"Masculinity diminished. I like it."

" _Ugh_. Get with the modern age, dimbo. He could very easily have the same amount of fem inside as well as the masculine. Have you seen his shoulders?"

"He's like a buffalo!"

"Thank you. I know I chose well."

"Ok. Then I'll think about this sociology lesson we've ventured to while you're out. See you later!"

She salutes. "Maybe. Laters, Pav. Love ya."

"Love you too!"

She pushed her chair in, but before she pranced off in her platforms, Lave peered over her shoulder, hand beside her mouth. Secrets! But it was gonna be absolutely nothing new. Pav knew exactly what Lavender Sized tip and trick she was about to give. She squeezed her hands under the tabletop.

"Remember, you're literally amazing. Don't be a total dumb-dumb and forget, cool?". Her eyes, furrowed, contradicted that faint, and quaint, yet all consuming trademark dimple on her cheek she gained whenever she grinned. It vanished as soon as the sentence finished, anyways. Now her eyes lidded, again. Going deadpan. All over.

Pav bobbed her head in return. Matching that wolfish beam. Or, at the very most, childishly attempting. Parvati's gummy smile revealed more of a Disney's Lefou than, say, a Kate Moss.

"You're cool, Pav. Right?"

Their eyes met.

"By 'Cool', you mean, I have the tits of the Goddess Aphrodite, than yes! I'm practically Antarctica, dude. I'm gonna smash this, don't worry."

They both paused.

"You know, I have never once believed you. Ever."

...

"Then why ask?"

She was already out the door.

The Three Broomsticks on any normal mid-week early afternoon would have a few measly looking stranglers who wander up to the bartender rather meekly and ask for a 'Dry Ice Grapevine', knowing it'll take Miser Brown at least 7 ½ minutes to make. Pavarti Patil's toes shriveled in her loafers (metaphorically, of course!) everytime any of the masterclass morsels even dared to trudge their hunchbacks and splay themselves on the barstool, especially since this ordinary mid-week early afternoon wasn't so ordinary after all. Actually, ever since one certain wizard boy duked it out with the _Ultimate Evil_ himself last year, Pavarti, anyone really, couldn't help but notice the average populace of Three Broomsticks had increased two-fold. The quaint, painfully average pub for all ages and for 100 patrons max now seeped 230 restless students and locals till they pressed against the walls and could all hear the wooden walls creek. Lavender, the humble pragmatist she is, had shivered at the idea of a 'bunch of socially inept psycho virgins all sweating over my Iced Beer while they shuffle their sleeves over their hands so the flies and bees couldn't suck on the precipitation. It's dreadful'. Turns out it was speculated that the bees were going extinct before the new millennium was to come. And it also turns out that, sometimes, in existential and provoking times, people like talking to each other. Parvati and Lavender discovered this only weeks after school had commenced, to much fortune and delight. They wished to use and abuse the much needed escapism of their fellow equals to fuel, the, to quote, 'Dynamic Duo Pav & Lav. Which was conceived to solve Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Mystery's many facets and romantic upbringings'. 'If three Gryffindor geek guys can become the modern age Mystery Machine, we can become the 90's platonic version of Thelma & Louise! But, instead of, like, a 1966 Ford Thunderbird, we'll just ride those Quidditch broomsticks we stole from tryouts.' Pavarti proclaimed this to her fellow comrades in the Girls' Dormitory. Smirk and all.

"I like you and despise you all at the same time, you know that?" Lavender and Parvati high-fived and bumped fists in quick succession

"You say that a lot!"

"Maybe there's a common denominator here."

"WHAT." A Ms. Hermione Granger had zipped the covers off her bed, sitting straight up. Yet she kept her sleeping mask on, that bore two words in cursive script, 'Cool Girl'. Her mouth ended up looking robotic "The team looked after those cheap sticks _for_ _weeks_."

Case 4: Vicki the Banjo Bandit was coined this morning, Pav had felined over to Lavender's bedside, having noticed her first awoken stirs of the day. "Meet me at The Usual. 3:15 sharp."

Her partner flipped over, teeth poking out of her smile and ragged stray hairs, whispering, eyes still shut, "Goof ass."

Parvati noted that Lav had generally _seemed_ rather chipper in the morning, at least.

Vicki, on the opposite end, seemed to be jacking about her instrument's strings, cross-legged on a barrel in the farthest corner away from Pav in the pub. She could catch each emotion resonating from the woman between packs of gossiping students. A slide show of anger management self-care only ever before seen on the Oprah Winfrey Show. Dreadful, indeed.

"Your two Iced Beers, Ma'am" The waitress set down a pair of long, thin cups with sky blue hues leaking fog out the rims, wisps accumulating around the tall table Parvati's stationed at.

"Woah! These look pretty bomb!" She leaned over, her head bobbing between the drinks. The glass skewed the colors, the colors seemed translucent, the rest of the tavern looking like a 12 year old first discovering photoshop.

A pair of big doe brown eyes zoomed to the center, Pav noticed the this chick's eyebrows were kinda pretty big. " _Please,_ ma'am. Praise our bartender, instead. I deserve none of it."

"I always liked Miser Brown, Ramilda."

"You're not the only one. Is there anything else?"

"Definitely not. Thank you, though!"

Pav rubbed her fingertips against her palms, now her body was _surprisingly_ moisturizing itself, and she hated it! She streaked her hands through her hair, stealing a puff of air before she pushed herself onto the battleground, both Ice Beers in tow. _She's_ _just a lady with biceps! Intimidating, amazing, spectacular Grace Jones smizing shoulders that could crunch me into a new decade._ Her toes are tipped, slinking past much taller patrons in much bigger groups. Her elbows bump into many asses. _Keep your cool, Pav!_ More slideshows. Vicki's personal powerpoint presentation is more calm, now. Her eyebrows are raised. _Is my neck wet?_ Another ass. _Having a weakness for Redheads is utterly and extraordinarily ordinary._ Only five, maybe six tables away. She still hasn't noticed her. _I saw it in a movie, once. It had Mel Gisbon in it._ Her nails scrape against the drinks. _SHit! That's grody. Didn't he punch a jewish guy?_ Tension trickled up her spine. Three tables and Three friend groups. _What if she's Jewish?_ Katie Bell waves hi. _I don't wanna punch a jew._ Hannah Abbott does too. _That would be horrible._ Vicki's banjo strings come alive. Almost somber? _Fuck! Why did I just think, 'a Jew'? That's so wrong and dumb. I'm officially dumb!_ One table. _also why am I assuming she's jewish?!_ ½ table, her hairline feels like the Gobi Desert, Kinda like the color of Vicki' skin. _jewish lineages have delicate women too and also that might have also been in that stupid Mel Gibson movie._

Their eyes meet.

 _I'm literally amazing.  
_ She has these big, pouty lips.

"You're literally amazing!"

 _WHO._

"I was just thinking about our convo from Divination class."

ARE.

"You know Miser Brown burns my damn intestines with those Iced Beers, everytime."

YOU.

"My personal barrel here can for sure sit more than one 5'2' dwarf like me! Like, seriously, look how tiny am? How big is this barrel? Cool, right?"

 _it's so big. And so cool. So_ _very_ _**very**_ _god. damn. cool._

Pav's adams apple gulps. _Let the smirk reign._

"Well, _you_ should consider yourself demonstrably lucky, Vicki. My parents gave me the genetic purity of size 8 pants and a niche for Iced Beer. Did you notice?" Pav clanked them (cooly + gently) together, "did you, though?"

The redhead's gasp is sharp, her cheeks flushed, "No. Way. That's super awesome of you! I'll take it." Her banjo's placed against the wall behind her.

"And I'll just, like, take that seat there, then" _like lke_ _**lik**_ _liek_

She takes a guzzle and her eyes bulge beyond her eyelashes. "Shit! Stuff's good." Pav directed herself to the second half of the barrel. Swishing her butt side to side till she became steady, crossing her legs. But, their thighs, no matter what, would be touching. And they are. Right now. It's spectacular. "Also!" She shifted herself over, and _any_ more and their legs would be interlocked. She takes another sip, and leans in, and whether it's the light in the afternoon tavern, or it's just Vicki, her eyes have a dazzle, a twinkle in them, "Don't think I didn't notice the part about the pants." Pav could _feel_ her blood thickening. "And I love those jeans! Only because my moms the one who started the line." Her mind _Popped!_ She was suddenly aware of her breathing and the way her hands moved and also that Pansy Parkinson was yelling about Slughorn a few feet away. She almost nervous coughed. Her throat felt scratchy.

"Dude! You gotta be joking, these are my go-to's! And how lame would you think I am if I told you I own 20 exact pairs."

She swayed her head back in forth in mock thought, "I'd say that's just the side effect of being human, Pavarti."

Pav flung her index finger in the air, chin up, "Oh, it's definitely an issue. I can't move on! I'm basically scared of commitment. You might as well write this one down as a red flag, man."

"You're a dork. Ok, my mom, the jean lady, remember? Anyways, she always did tell me that I'll only know when a boy falls in love with me is when he commits."

Pav almost says it. But her palms are sweaty again and she can't stand mumbling. Especially when she, herself, does.

"You can say it. It's okay."

"No," maybe she'd chide herself later for being so quiet, maybe she wouldn't, "It's amazing." The twinkle didn't go out. "I swear."

And she's quiet too, "You think, so?"

"Because we're girls…"

"We're women."

"Naturally." A moment too long, a moment too long to notice that Vicki has these crinkles between her dark eyebrows. "Hey."

She smiles, "Yeah?"

"I feel the utter need to ask you this one, certain, question."

"Color me stoked, then!"

"You better be scared, dude"

"Right. Then I'll be your damsel in distress. Wait, was that funny? Shit, don't answer that. Anyways! Was is it?"

 _It's been destroying me, honestly._

"Do you listen to Elliot Smith?"


	2. Case 2: I Adore Nerdy Chicks

**3** **Weeks Prior:**

Sometimes she left two pairs of jeans, for the offday, on her tight nit bed in a tight fold. Acid Washed and Faux Lesbian Cuff, Pav's brain cells could practically explode in euphoria every time she glanced at them. But that, of course, would be entirely impractical, according to a one Ms. Hermione Granger. Pav would then attempt to reconcile.

"But Ms. Trelawney specifically-!"

" _Specifically?_ Perish the thought! That brat wouldn't know specifically if it corkscrewed her hind rear."

"She said I'd _look_ like a thot!"

"PARDON ME."

"See, dude? This is where I was going with it. If you didn't just cut me off like some midwife."

"Please, like I'd ever let you touch my bits."

Both students stood ground on the by their bedposts, opposite one another with their backs high (and their egos even higher). Hermione's hands jutted against her hips while Pav's fingers are in her pockets, keeping her chin dominate. She'd seen buzzcut chicks in alternative magazines do the same thing and thought it was peculiar and amazing. Intimidation mixed with a 5'0 stature. Pav thought she was destined for greatness.

"Ok, I really wanna say you 'smell like American White Castle, anyways', but like, this bitch _loves_ a good slider."

"Well! You're not sliding on anything of mine anytime soon, Pavarti."  
"I would never mess with a heartbroken girl! _Perish the thought._ " A spark of regret pierced her spine, ice cold. Too harsh? Too heated? _I am a thot, aren't I?_

Hermione now carried an aspect, a twinge of a frown. Her eyes squinted, "You're an ass."

"Alright, I'm definitely a tho-"

"I'm utterly and completely happy for Ronald."

Pav noticed two years prior that Ms. Granger carried a single dimple on her right cheek. Very adorable, yet very hidden in the best of times.

Hermione's eyes dodged to the window adjacent to her bed, her profile in full view.

"You only use adverbs when you're angry about something. Double verbage when you're mad at yourself." _STOP trying to be cool, dumb dumb. Say sorry. Do it. NOW._

"Like we're best friends, or something." She still didn't look at her.

"Now _I'm heartbroken_ , what about Translucency 505? The good old days?"

"Yes. Grandstanding. Cool. Pav, you're very awesome." Everything's cold. They just stood. On their battleground. … "What did...um...Divination exactly bring out?"

"Hermione."

"Don't say you're sorry. We're fine. I mean, shit, we're not fine, but…"

Pav shuffled her heel against the brick flooring. She wished for a time when they were ok. She didn't want to admit that it was always like this. From their first meeting, it was popcorn for the onlookers to see who'd end up on top. Who'd be the cutest, wittiest, the somehow nicest yet secretly a borish windbag on the side. Hermione, instead, became an academic recluse who's part of a dynamic trio that saved lives and definitely is gonna save the entire Wizarding World and capture the hearts of newsletters and student alike. In short, she grew a backbone.

And maybe Pavarti was jealous of that.

They both are looking at the jeans, now. Hermione cleared her throat, "So, are you going to answer the question, or not?"

Pav knew it wasn't the right thing to say. Whatsoever. They met each others eyes. Pav probably would despise herself for this, but she had an aspect of a smile on her face. A twinge, maybe.

"Ok. She looked in my cup. Then my legs, and whispered in my ear that I look like a Fashion Nova Babe.

….

"You do have amazing legs."

The smile became some assortment of real.

"Fuck yeah I do."


	3. I Admire Our Height Difference

Megan Jones usually frequented a name change whenever her hair follicles decided to take a dive between plastic gloves and fifty cent dollar store hair dye that was most likley preformed on monkey's first. She would assure herself that primates needed to feel pretty too, and that since gingers were practically a dying breed everywhere except for the United Kingdom and certain weirdly ambiguous sections of South Africa, she had the moral high ground. Vicki was born. Pav agreed with her on the basis that _just_ because Vik's middle name is Victoria, doesn't make it lame. Not whatsoever, really. Pav wouldn't dare dream of that conclusion. In fact, she believed this added a fluid edge. She might've felt her spine was gonna retract admitting this to Vik, but her grandmother always preached about being vulnerable or some shit, so she compared this to when she was (emphasis on the tense) an absolute addict of The X-Men for the duration of two geekatron fueled years of her life. Mystique was (maybe is?) her ride-or-die. Vik told her that was super lame.

And Pav liked that. She liked it too much. She liked her so much, after their first meeting she burst into the her dormitory with whipped sparks from her wand, whisked the old time radio on, and swished her hips along to the (moderadly sorry top 40) wiles and incantation of the Fugees, Lauryn Hill's vibrato ushering Pav along the circular room, imagining a casual yet refined Vik with her, strutting to the jive of her own body.

And _her body_. Despite her self proclaimed dwarfism (she's actually ⅛. This may still be problematic though. Who knows?), the chick had hips as broad as her shoulders. Her body seemed to be gun-ho for a fulfilling life of motherhood, which she was also just as ready to lay out, her dream baby names included.

"Bro, I don't even care how they turn out to be when their older, I just wanna raise tiny little boys! Pinching their cheeks and stuff. The stitches would be _completely_ worth it. Plus, ladies like scars, don't they?"

" _Please_ , don't get cocky on me now. That kind of stuff is only in the Fantasy and Science Fiction section of Barnes & Nobles."

"Woah, there! Aren't we living one, technically?"

"The accurate term is, 'Urban' Fantasy."

"Wait, doesn't Lavender hate that word?"

"The accurate term is, 'Despise', Vik."

"You're hilarious."

They'd do this completely awesome and awkward couple thing where they'd hold each others pinkies in hallways and lounge chairs. Pav initiated the tradition when she read about lesbian couples back in the 60's who'd do the same exact thing as some 'anarchy against men' covert lifelong operation. Just lady friends admiring their lady parts in high secrecy. Sometimes she'd imagine all the past leslies looking onto them in approval from the beyond. "My Daughters!" they'd chant. She'd totally wink at them.

"Enough about my innate coolness, lend me some baby ideas. I'm getting tired of always sticking with Archibald since I was 9."

"How average of you, Pavarti. For shame."

"Stop it! I'm sensitive, ok?"

"Alright, for sure. Back to my point. I wanna have two boys, right? I'd name them both Simon and Levi. Hopefully they're twins."

"Now look who's average. You totally got those from NameBerry. Poser."

Sometimes babies aren't the best choice. Especially against mole hills of school work that maybe, **kinda** , (who knows!), should've been done the night before. Pav enjoyed that Vik wasn't so tryhard about their education. Want to be an Auror? Power to you, babe! But dashing each others shared notes the morning of began to have a distinct jolt to it. Pure addiction, even. Pav almost seemed flabbergasted when Hermione, notorious princess of academia, barely even gave _one_ scoff when seeing the circus act that would terrorize the love birds when the sun came up.

"I can admire your guys' spirit. It's kinda charming, actually." Should Pav be sensing a bit of condescension?

Definitely not. She knew better. She thought she knew better.

"You're just jealous, Granger. Of our 'carefree' attitude."

She just shrugged, kneeling down to buckle her boots, "Kind of."

This is when Vik flipped her hair around, only giving a snide look toward Pav. Although she swore she could notice Vik mouthing the words, "Keep it going."

So she did. "Look!" _Desperation! Hi! Hello, how are you?_

The third girl lifted her head, "What?" Her right eyebrow is raised. She could _clearly_ notice and see right through Pav's pupils, which she could also swear she felt dilating like some narcotic hummingbird.

"I..uh..look, you should totally help us become knock off valedictorians today. We clearly need at least half of your smarts."

Only for the second it took for Hermione to stand, her thin shoulders froze .She was classically lithe. Just a classic woman in general. _Women? She's 17, shit face._ She places her finger under her chin, "I'd think, tell me if I'm wrong here, I'd wager that you want me to schedule a session around 4:00 today? I'm free till 7."

So many heartbeats have skipped within the past 10 seconds that the Infirmary wouldn't have any hope of ever reviving Pav.

Pav nodded twice. Maybe three. Maybe five! Always with the 'maybe's'.

"The three broomsticks maybe isn't the best spot to do this in."

"I think your right? But don't you like to hide out there after classes."

" _Sleuthing,_ Hermione. The correct word is sleuthing."

"And maybe I'll join sometime. I'm almost notorious for that kind of thing by now."

"I was under the impression that you required a much needed hiatus!"

"Pavarti. Every hero's an addict to tragedy, haven't you realized this?"

"So the library at 4?"

"The library at 4."

And she left. A hole of space seemed to have stayed, however. Leftover energy sizzled and cracked around Pav.

Vik dragged herself to the front of the bed, "As your official cupid-of-the-week, I'd wager that was some hot shit I just saw there. I don't even think you need my help. With this pretend GF business, I mean."

She grinned, "Don't quit me now."

"Whatever Stonewall. Don't get cocky on me. We still gotta learn how to braid each other's hair. Because you suck at that."

"Yeah I do."


End file.
